


You Scream (I Scream)

by MamshieHelp



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: #thankyoumakkachin, Body Worship, Domestic Fluff, Food Play, Future Fic, Implied Sexual Content, Inappropriate Consumption of Ice Cream, M/M, Shirtless Victor Nikiforov, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Yuuri is a teasing shit, need i say more, no actual sexual content, this was self indulgent lmao, yuuri eats ice cream off of viktor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 05:13:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12226470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MamshieHelp/pseuds/MamshieHelp
Summary: “Darling, do we have any paper towels left? Hold on, I’ll go check-“Yuuri’s hand on his thigh stops him from moving.Viktor freezes for a moment once he’s almost harshly pushed back onto the couch. “Yuuri?” Viktor says, blue eyes a little wide as he sees Yuuri’s expression. His eyes were oddly wide, brown almost gone, black pupils swirling as he stares at Viktor’s torso.Viktor’s brain is… oddly slow at comprehension at the moment, especially when Yuuri is looking at him like that.“Yuuri, love- ”Yuuri stands up, plops himself down on Viktor’s lap.“O-Oh…”(Or: Viktor happens to be shirtless. Viktor also happens to spill ice cream onto his torso. Yuuri's mouth gets creative™)





	You Scream (I Scream)

Back then, when Yuuri was freshly moved into St. Petersburg and was blissfully ignorant of how the godly Viktor Nikiforov was domestically, the sight of him walking around with nothing but just Uniqlo fresh sweatpants riding low on his hips often made Yuuri choke and loose his footing.

 

Here’s the thing: Viktor wasn’t like those perfectly chiseled male models with rock hard panera bread for tits. No, Viktor was a _figure skater_ , not a weightlifter. He had a smooth, lithe body. Firm and soft at the same time, edges and curves sliding in around each other to form a beautiful creature that future museum curators would hang picture frames of in museums, art galleries, auctions.

 

And hell, Yuuri had _wanted_. Viktor was a perfect enigma of soft hips, pelvic and collar bones that made Viktor mewl whenever Yuuri does so much so as ghost a hot breath over them, and an abdomen that was a valley that Yuuri’s fingers have travelled upon, exploring new domains with a single touch.

 

Years passed, Yuuri had gotten used to coming home to a Viktor Nikiforov in nothing but his boxers dancing along to a late 80’s bop. That doesn’t mean the monstrous hunger in him had quieted though, oh _no_.

 

It was late August, and it was hot as _fuck_. Yuuri was pretty sure that he had collected more than enough water to supply the Pacific Ocean with in his armpit. _Gross_ , yes. Honest? Definitely.

 

When Yuuri was woken up from his nap, it was already four in the afternoon and Viktor was still asleep, face burrowed in Yuuri’s neck like it _belonged_ there. Yuuri wondered how Viktor managed to cuddle when Satan felt like he was hailing his wrath in their apartment. Yuuri had to extract himself in order to prevent him and his husband from heat death, trying not to let the sleepy, needy little mewl from Viktor bribe him to stay.

 

Makkachin pads over to greet him, tongue lolling out. It was time for their afternoon walk, usually the three of them would go but Viktor was still blissfully asleep.

 

The walk was great, Yuuri had an excuse to wear shorts and a soft tshirt, a sharp contrast from the layers of clothing Yuuri had to wear due to the fact that Russia was usually cold as fuck. On the way back home, Yuuri passes by a small little ice cream parlor, and his mind _dings_.

 

Balancing two ice cream cones in his hand with surprisingly good coordination, he shoves a key into the doorknob and Makkachin pushes the door open for the both of them, immediately padding towards the kitchen for his water bowl.

 

Yuuri could see Viktor’s silver head from the doorway, sitting on the couch as some cheesy Russian soap opera plays on their T.V. Viktor turns, smiles a smile that was enough to brighten the already sunny day.

 

“Ice Cream!” Viktor jumps from the couch, moving towards Yuuri, and _yep_ , he’s shirtless. Yuuri still gets that little hitch in his breath whenever he sees Viktor’s sharp pelvic bones, his sweatpants barely hiding what’s there. Viktor hugs him, and Yuuri half screeches half squeals.

 

“I’m sweaty and gross, Vitya.” He says, extracting himself from his clingy husband, Viktor just pouts, but smiles when Yuuri hands him the slightly melted ice cream cone.

 

Yuuri sets aside Makkachin’s leash, takes off his shoes as Viktor returns to his spot on the couch. Yuuri never would have guessed, in his whole goddamn life, that he’d be here, right now, with ice cream staining his hands and Viktor Nikiforov half naked on their couch.

 

Life was, oddly, a funny little thing.

 

Not even bothering to change out of his sweaty clothes, Yuuri huffs and sits on the couch, tongue lolling out to lick at his ice cream. Yuuri was understandably good at Russian now, yes, so he knew what the soap opera was about. Lots of swearing and mistresses hair pulling at each other, for the least. He doesn’t see the way Viktor’s eyes follow him, watching as Yuuri sucks the ice cream from his fingers.

 

Before Viktor could pounce, a soft bark warns them, and Makkachin beats Viktor to it.

 

“Agh! Makka- _no_ , down girl- whoah!”

 

Yuuri gasps at first, then giggles when Makkachin pounces on the blue eyed man in an attempt to steal the ice cream from her owner, sending the ice cream flying from Viktor’s hand and onto his bare torso.

 

“Oh _no,_ Makkachin!” Viktor says sternly, but Yuuri knew he’d never get mad at his pet. Never. “Look, you wasted my ice cream!”

 

Makkachin gives zero fucks, and before the dog could lick the ice cream off him, Viktor bats him away with a playful hand. After a small, relentless battle, beast vs. man, Makkachin whines and returns to the kitchen, forlorn.

 

Yuuri has gone oddly quiet.

 

“Agh… Good thing it didn’t spill on the couch.” Viktor says. The cone was sticking to his chest; semi melted ice cream slowly dipping down his abs. There was a little white droplet on his cheek. Viktor removes the cone, sets it down on the coffee table. He’d have to wipe it down later or the ice cream might stain the wood.

 

“Darling, do we have any paper towels left? Hold on, I’ll go check-“

 

Yuuri’s hand on his thigh stops him from moving.

 

Viktor freezes for a moment once he’s almost harshly pushed back onto the couch. “Yuuri?” Viktor says, blue eyes a little wide as he sees Yuuri’s expression. His eyes were oddly wide, brown almost gone, black pupils swirling as he stares at Viktor’s torso.

 

Viktor’s brain is… oddly slow at comprehension at the moment, especially when Yuuri is looking at him like _that_.

 

“Yuuri, love- ”

 

Yuuri stands up, plops himself down on Viktor’s lap.

 

“O-Oh…”

 

The way Yuuri _looks_ at him, fingers trailing his cheekbones and thumb lightly pulling at his bottom lip, was enough to send a shiver up and down Viktor’s legs. His eyes were closer, browner, swirling with a heat that Viktor could barely understand and yet were enough to send him in a manic state himself. His hands instinctively find Yuuri’s soft hips, fingers pressing against his tailbone.

 

One of Yuuri’s hands card through his hair, pulls his face closer. Yuuri tasted like the chocolate ice cream he was previously eating, and Viktor wanted _more_. Their kiss was slow, yet filthy and open mouthed, tongues tasting and teeth biting, the room filling with quiet gasps and soft sighs.

 

Yuuri pulls away, staring deep into him with hooded eyes and parted lips. Viktor gulps, knowing _this_ look. Yuuri blindfolded him once before, hands tied together as Viktor stood pliant and horny in a chair as Yuuri whispered unspeakable things in his ears. He’d managed to bribe Viktor into that with this same look, _it would be fun, wouldn’t it Vitya?_ with an evil little smile on his face. Viktor nearly died that night, yet, it was the best near death experience Viktor would ever get.

 

Viktor knew that Yuuri was going to let out his inner dominatrix this time, and no amount of preparation would ever save him.

 

Yuuri takes one of Viktor’s hands, still sticky from the melted ice cream dripping down his fingers, and _licks_ one of his fingers.

 

Viktor hisses as Yuuri rocks slowly, ass grating against his thighs, his embarrassingly semi hard cock, as he kisses the pads of his thumb, his fingers, nipping at his knuckles and kissing his palm.

 

He drops his hand and Yuuri kisses his cheek, kissing away the melted ice cream droplet. Moving, down and down to place soft kisses on his jaw, on his chin.

 

Viktor’s breath hitches when Yuuri bites on his earlobe.

 

Dear _lord._

 

Yuuri’s lips find his neck, first kissing softly, then harder and filthier, bruising and marking the column of flesh. All the while, one of his hands place fluttering touches on his face, jaw, across his shoulders, gripping at his bicep.

 

Viktor is painfully aware of the rapidly hardening cock Yuuri was currently sitting on.

 

“Yuuri… _love_ -“ His hands move to move and just _touch_ , touch him and kiss him and make him _scream_. But Yuuri’s hand catch his wrist, his gaze on Viktor hot and heavy as he stops Viktor from caressing Yuuri’s skin, hair, _everywhere,_ and lets them rest on the couch cushions.

 

Viktor nearly _swears_ , but he doesn’t want him to stop, _never_ wants him to stop, so he grits his teeth and lets his beautiful, evil little husband do all the work.

 

Yuuri moves to remove himself from his lap and in between Viktor’s legs to move lower, his clothed belly grazing the boner Viktor was already sporting and Viktor hisses, the scratchy fabric of his sweatpants not helping at _all_. He wasn’t wearing anything under it as well. God _damn_.

 

Yuuri kisses at his chest, tongue lolling out to lick away the ice cream that stained the pearly white skin. His hands move, grazing his sides until they rest agonizingly on his hips.

 

Yuuri looks up at Viktor, and he can see the absolute _evil_ in his husband’s eyes, tongue licking away the ice cream on his skin in an agonizingly slow pace. A beautiful Japanese man with a great ass resting in between his legs, licking and kissing away the ice cream on his chest like he was _starving_ , the mere sight alone was enough to make Viktor come.

 

Yuuri moves lower, and Viktor leans back to give the man more access, the muscles on his body stretching and Yuuri gets a hitch in his breath at the sight. His hands move from his hips, down to his thighs, and was _thisclose_ to when Viktor actually wants them to be.

 

“A-Ah… _Yuuri_ …” Yuuri’s teeth graze his skin, nibbling on his abs as his fingers tease little circles on the insides of his thighs, hands softly squeezing the plump flesh. Viktor throws his head back when Yuuri rocks a bit, chest grinding against Viktor’s cock, providing little yet delicious friction Viktor oh so badly needed.

 

Yuuri’s hands move slow, closer and _closer_ , until his finger deftly traces his bulge, nail teasingly catching on the fabric. Yuuri’s other hand traces the lowest point of his pelvic bone, just above his dick, and Viktor mutters out multiple swear words in multiple languages.

 

Yuuri kisses away the last of the ice cream on Viktor’s lower abdomen, teeth grazing his pelvic bone, mouth slowly moving lower and lower until his hot breath ghosts over Viktor’s dick.

 

And, painfully, Yuuri stops.

 

Viktor feels dread when he sees a small little smile on Yuuri’s face.

 

Yuuri stands up, Viktor’s skin surges with want once the Japanese man’s touch is gone, blue eyes wide with disbelief at Yuuri’s sweet little smile.

 

“There, you’re clean now! No need for paper towels anymore, yes?”

 

Viktor has an aneurysm.

 

Yuuri turns, flashing the same old little smile before sashaying to their room.

 

Yuuri barely gets to touch the doorknob when Viktor pushes him against the wall.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

EXTRA

 

“This is your fault.” Viktor grumbles, into Yuuri’s hair. Yuuri just laughs, his laughter like champagne bubbles, floating and buzzing Viktor’s mind. His shoulders shake, dotted red with fresh bruises and bites. An animalistic side of Viktor purrs contentedly, and he thanks Makkachin for fucking things up beautifully. “I feel like I’ll never _not_ be sweaty again.”

 

“ _I_ wasn’t the one who initiated marathon sex in the middle of a blistering hot day.” Yuuri says fondly, fingers trailing Viktor’s collar bone. He smelled like vanilla. Yuuri breaths it in, sighing.

 

“It wasn’t exactly a _marathon_ -“

 

“We did it six times.”

 

“Seven, actually.” Viktor mutters, and he just pulls him closer. “Still, _your_ fault _._ ”

 

Yuuri laughs. He _loves_ ice cream.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> sinsinsinsisnsisnsisnisnsisnsisnsisnsisn.
> 
> was this self indulgent? yes. do i regret this? hell to the naw
> 
> I have a companion fic to this, would yall like to see Viktor eating out Yuuri for a change??? ;))))) lemme know *wink wonk*
> 
>  
> 
> [wiggly wumbler, this is my tumblr](https://moshimamshie.tumblr.com/)


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